Time is a ticking and there are still so many more photos to upload from New York. New York in summer is rather glorious, despite the scalding bitumen. On a summer day, a lunch break at the Shake Shack consisting of burger and shakes is a must have experience.

There is no such thing as a not busy time at the Shack. Even hours past lunch, the line was snaking its way around Madison Square Park as hungry mob waited patiently for their burger, shakes and fries.

We ordered the ShackBurger, Cheese Fries and some milk shake to wash it all down. The burger was smaller than I expected, but the patty oozed enough grease when lightly squeezed. The bun itself was more like a brioche rather than hamburger buns. I loved the melted cheese on top of fries, but it made me feel a little sick after a while. My favourite item out of this menu was my vanilla milkshake. It was thick and creamy and tasted exactly what a good old fashion shake should, complete and utter indulgence of the best kind.

We stayed in Brookly for the first few days of the trip, revisiting old haunts in what is an increasingly gentrified neighbourhood.

It felt like home when I wandered down the street, with hidden chocolate shops, random furniture stores and craft markets.

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while, but other events in the past few days proved to be more exciting. New York, or more correctly Williamsburg, Brooklyn where I spent most of my time was this chaotic vibrant place. I was never quite during which exact moment that I had the biggest crush on this part of New York. Each street was covered in graffiti, the snow was packed solid to the point that walking became impossible and sliding inevitable, but somehow it was so alive.

It didn’t hurt that Williamsburg was alive with great little coffee shops, cute little gift shops and more artists, musicians and other artistic type within a square mile.

One of my favourite market was the Artists & Fleas Indoor market that was open every weekend. With the Christmas season they were opened during Thursday and Friday as well and I ended up visiting it more often than was good for my wallet. Nestled in a little warehouse space it housed a number of up and coming designers selling their ware for a fraction of the cost of the price in the upmarket boutiques in Manhattan. The atmosphere was rather like Bust’s craftacular last year and I envied the fact markets such as this were rather common in this part of the world.

It was easy to imagine Brooklyn Tweed wandering around the same streets, sipping coffee in the many coffee shops (serving only organic coffee beans, eggs and whatnot) and visiting the many yarn shops around the area. I think that’s when it clicked in my head that I could quite easily live here some day.

It was a dark and icy night and I was wondering down an unknown street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn wondering what the hell posessed me to do this in the first place. I had not given the oh so secret address to anyone and had this all been a ploy to lure unsuspecting tourist then this surely could not end well.

Fortunately my morbid thoughts were just thoughts. Even with my lousy sense of direction I managed to find where Whisk and Laddle was located and treated myself to a spicy and warming cocktail on arrival. So, what was Whisk and Laddle you might ask and what on earth was I even there? I first read about the concept of Supperclub and Whisk and Laddle from the Guardian. A Whisk and Laddle Supperclub as defined by the good people from W&L as:

Abiding by the traditional structure of the dinner party – a cocktail hour, soup course, entree then salad ­ and out of the deeply entrenched belief that all things civilized and debaucherous find common ground on a dining room table, the Whisk and Ladle Supperclub was born.

What it was in reality is a damn good dinner party hosted at the chefs’ own home, this being a funky converted warehouse in Brooklyn. Consider it is as an alternate to dining in a formal restaurant, a supperclub allows the opportunity for good food and good company all under the radar of restaurant licensing law. Call it the secret society of foodies where entry depends on whether your reservation request depends on how interesting you plead your case when you made that reservation. Looking around the net, a reservation for a W&L sounded a lot like winning the golden ticket, to be honest I am not quite sure how I managed to get in when the waiting list was rumoured to be a matter of months, but plugging this blog seemed to help.

I was instantly charmed by their apartment and although turning up alone to a dinner party can be someone’s worst nightmare it also made it easier to join conversations. I talked to two lads from London who read the same Guardian article, two brothers who were artists, a couple who were in the movie industry and an actor.

Dinner that night was Creole inspired and all our meal was prepared as we waited in their living room. The atmosphere was casual and friendly and our tasters (Latkes topped with blue cheese) disappeared the moment it hit the table.

Soup was Creole turtle with corn bread, and apparently they managed to find said turtle/s from Minnesota, though I didn’t ask too closely whether said turtle was still breathing when they bought it.

As for dessert, the hot chocolate with jam filled beignet went down a treat. In between the wine and conversation kept flowing and I was a little too content to move when the candles were subtly snuffed one by one and brown envelopes were casually slipped by the hosts for guest contribution. It was definitely the most unusual and unexpectedly lovely experience I had in a while. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but walked away with a good meal and hopefully some people I will keep in contact with when I return.